


A tremor of struggling revolt

by dzurlady



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-16
Updated: 2010-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzurlady/pseuds/dzurlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you see him? Do you see the story? Do you see anything? It seems I am trying to tell you a dream--making a vain attempt, because no relation of a dream can convey the dream-sensation, that commingling of absurdity, surprise, and bewilderment in a tremor of struggling revolt, that notion of being captured by the incredible which is the very essence of dreams."<br/>- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness</p>
            </blockquote>





	A tremor of struggling revolt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krityan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/krityan/gifts).



> Happy yuletide! I was really excited to be assigned Alan Wake and to explore what happened to Alice when she was taken by the Dark Presence. I hope you enjoy your story.
> 
> Potential readers please note that this story contains a major spoiler for Alan Wake, and is best read after playing through at least episode 4.

Alice feels her heart sink as she listens to Alan pound down the stairs of their cabin, followed by the slam of the front door behind him. Distraught, her fear of the dark overcoming even her fear for Alan, she sinks back onto the bed and presses her hands against her face. She wants to chase after him, but it’s fully dark outside now, a gloomy blackness worse than the neon twilight of the city. The island is covered in shadow, and surrounded by dull black water. If the lights went out here, it would be almost pitch black inside the cabin. She wishes Alan would come back - so they could talk, so she could apologise, so she would not be alone if something terrible happened, if the old generator failed. If the lights -

\- went out. Alice screams before she's consciously aware of the darkness.

‘Alan! Alan!’ she cries.  
Alice clamps down on her screams and forces herself to listen for Alan's response, her breathing shaky and too fast. She doesn’t hear his voice over the sound of her breathing, but there is something else – a soft shushing sound. Alice holds her breath, listening.

There it is again, a quiet but distinct _shush._ It's the sound of the gentle rustle of fabric moving against fabric, and it's coming from behind her, right in the room, too close to be Alan coming back inside. Alice lets out a quite sob, but forces herself not to scream. She must be mistaken - it’s just her mind playing tricks on her, making things up in the dark. This has happened before. She knows that, just like every other time, when she turns around there will be nothing there. Alan’s imagination has nothing on hers when the lights are out. She will turn around, and there will be nothing there.

Alice turns.

There is a woman, her face covered by a black veil, standing in the room. She is so close to Alice that there is less than a foot between them, and she is smiling, mean and gloating.

‘Hello dear,’ she says. ‘I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.’  
Alice draws breath to scream but before she can make a sound the darkness rushes in around her and there is nothing else.

 

 _Alice was gone, lost in the darkness. The only thing keeping Alan calm was the woman's promise that there was a way he could find her again. Alan sat down at the typewriter, her hand heavy on his shoulder. With his writing, he would find Alice and bring her back. Without her, he would be lost in the darkness._

 

When Alice comes back to herself she is alone in the darkness. She knows with a terrible, sick certainty that something terrible has happened, that she has finally found the reason she and everyone else should be terrified of the dark. ‘Alan?’ she calls. ‘Alan!’

There is no response. Her voice dies quickly, muffled in the darkness. ‘Alan!’ she calls, and then screams, ‘Alan! ALAN!’ There is no response.  
‘Alan! Alan! Please, I need you!’ Alice staggers forward, trying to escape. ‘Alan!’ she sobs, her voice breaking under the strain of her panic.

Still nothing. Alice sinks to the ground, no longer trying to hold back the tears. She wishes she had never brought Alan out here, never shown him the typewriter, never heard of Hartman. Things had been improving - he’d cut back on the parties, spent more time at home, been talking to her more. She should have waited, been more patient, trusted things would eventually come right on their own. But she’d wanted a magic bullet, wanted to conjure all Alan’s problems away, and so she’d talked him into coming here – talked him into coming under false pretences. And something had been waiting for them. She has brought them both right into its trap, and she has no idea how they will ever get out of it.

Alice doesn’t know how long she spends huddled on the ground. The light never changes and she has no sense of time passing. Eventually, however, she reaches an empty calm. Her terror of the dark is still there, her fear for Alan, but it is like a fire which in its raging has consumed all available fuel. She feels numb, but her mind is clear.

Alice lifts her head. There is nothing for her here. Alan is out there somewhere, and she is going to find him. She stands up and looks around, searching for something that will tell her where to start looking.  
She spots it just as she is beginning to fear that there is nothing to be found. Off in the distance is a light, dim but definitely there. There is light, and with it, hope.

 

 _Alan had always enjoyed the sound of the typewriter keys clattering across the page, a soothing rhythm he would fall into as he sent Alex Casey off into another perilous adventure. When he was writing, he would go into his study and do nothing but type for days, emerging only to ask Alice for her opinion._

 _(‘Be honest, I can take it’._  
 _‘I’m always honest, Alan!’_  
 _‘You always say you love it.’_  
 _‘That’s because I always do.’_  
 _‘Alice…’_  
 _‘Alan.’_  
 _‘Come on, you’re my muse. Help me out here!’_ _‘Well, what seems to be the problem?’)_  
 _But he already knew what the problem was this time.  There was no Alex Casey now, no hero, and there would be no breaks to share his work with Alice. There was only Alan Wake, failed writer and failing husband. He pounded the keys harder, the sound clattering in his brain. He would not fail again. ‘Hold on, Alice,’ he muttered, but there was no response._

 

Alice seems to have been running for ages, the light not getting any closer. In her desperation, she doesn’t see the hollow in the ground before her until she puts her foot in it, the uneven ground making her lose her balance and fall to the ground.

When she pulls herself to her feet again, the landscape has changed around her. She is at the edge of a cliff that hadn’t been there before, the light from the cabin on the island visible below. Alice limps forward, half grateful to finally have her goal almost in reach, half fearful of this place and its strange shifting landscape.

‘Alan!’ she calls hopefully, but there is no movement from the cabin.  
'I see you’ve managed to find it,’ a voice behind her says. ‘I have to say, I didn’t think it would take you this long.’  
Alice spins around, startled. She takes a step backwards, before she remembers the cliff.

‘Do be careful,’ the veiled figure says. ‘It would be a pity if you fell. Such a long way down for a fragile little thing like you.’

‘Who are you?’ Alice cries. ‘What have you done to me? Where’s Alan?’

‘In the cabin, of course. He’s fine. At least for now.’

‘I swear, if you do anything to him I will –’

‘What? You don’t even know where you are, girl, let alone who I am.’

‘I know you’re responsible for this!’

‘Am I? After all, I didn’t force you to come here. In fact, I believe that was your idea. Thank you for that, by the way. Most helpful of you.’

‘You kidnapped me! Took me from my cabin! My husband!’

The woman laughs. ‘My, you are slow on the uptake. You were in my cabin, and you gave me your husband.’

‘I did no such thing. He’s my husband, and I will never give him up.’

The woman smiles behind her veil. ‘My dear child. Touching as your devotion is, it is pointless. You have already lost and there is nothing you can do about it. I have your husband exactly where and how I want him.'

Alice stared at her.

‘He is frantic with worry for you, eaten up with guilt. Fear and guilt are so easy to manipulate. He’ll do anything to get you back. His devotion to my cause is ever so touching. Anything I tell him to do, he will. He will free me from this cursed place - and then once I have no more use for him, he will die, leaving you trapped here in the dark. And all the while, he’ll be doing it for you.’

Alice feels a wave of hatred and fear toward the woman, stronger that she knew it was possible to feel.

‘Who _are_ you?’ she cries, and surprising both herself and the woman she steps forward and pulls the veil from her face.

For a single beat, there is a horrible silence. Alice has one brief, terrible look directly at its eyes.

‘What are you?’ she says, and she sees its face twist with rage before a gust of wind slams into her, knocking her over the cliffs, and the darkness envelopes her as she falls into the water.

 

 _The stack of plain white paper was almost blinding next to him. He hates looking at it. Written on those pages should be the words that will bring Alice back to him. While they’re blank, she’s alone, lost in the darkness. He had promised her that he would always keep her safe from the dark. Even though he was too late to pull her from the water, he can still save her, still keep his promise. He would not stop writing until she was safely back in his arms, and then he would never let her go again._

 

Alice slumps against the base of the cliff near where she had clawed her way out of the water. It's a pitiful defence, but she can't bring herself to look for better shelter. The stony shore around her quickly disappears into the creeping fog. Here, with her back against the solid stone, at least nothing can sneak up on her from behind.

Her mind is racing, trying to make sense of what she had seen. The thing was not human, that much was for sure. There had been no life, no mercy, no humanity in its eyes – only a terrible, selfish hunger. And whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it had her trapped here in the dark, alone, completely at its mercy. Worse still, it clearly had trapped Alan as well.

She has to reach Alan and free him from it. She had reached the shore. She would find out where she was, and then she would find the cabin again – and she would reach it this time. She is close. But first, she would rest, just for a moment. She is so tired – from the running, from the terrible fall and the following swim, from the fear. She would have a quick rest, not sleep. Just rest.  
She closes her eyes, just for a moment, and falls into sleep.

 

When Alice wakes up, at first she doesn’t notice the change. There is stone behind her and the sound of waves in front of her. But there is grass against her legs, and the waves are more distant, several meters off and down below her. She scrambles upright and turns around. She has been resting against the stone wall of cabin, and above her light is spilling from the window upstairs.

‘Alan!’ she gasps, but there is no response. ‘Alan!’ She stumbles for the door. It is locked, the knob refusing to move. She rattles it violently, then hammers on the door. There is no response from within.

Alice runs back to the window, staring up at it. The light is still there. She cannot any way to climb up to it, but if she can just get Alan’s attention... She looks at the ground, searching for stones to throw. The shadows are getting thicker, making it harder to see. Has the light gone out?  
Alice looks around to check and gasps. The window is right before her - barely five feet away. She looks at her feet, but all she can see is shadow. The ground feels solid beneath her feet. She takes a tentative step forward, and then catches sight of Alan sitting at the desk and forgets any thought of caution.

‘Alan! I’m here!’ she shouts. ‘Alan!’

Alan gives no sign of having heard her. He is typing intently, completely absorbed in his work.

‘Alan!’ she cries again. She knocks desperately on the window, willing Alan to look up and see her. Oblivious, he continues to pound on the keys of the typewriter with a feverish, intense focus. Alice feels a sob catch in her throat. She could never have imagined hating the sight of seeing him writing again.

‘Be careful what you wish for, my dear,’ says the woman’s voice behind her.

Alice spins round, stepping away from the cabin to face the thing that had trapped them here in the darkness. Its face is hidden behind the veil again, but nothing could hide its terrible wrongness from her now. The way it’s standing – so still – is it even breathing?

‘Get away from me,’ she cries. ‘Give me back my husband!’

‘Oh, he’s mine now, dear,’ it says. ‘See how he ignores you? The only muse he needs is me.’

Alice turns back to the cabin, but there is nothing there. The cabin is gone, as if she had only dreamed it. Perhaps she had. She looks back for the thing disguised as a woman, but it too has vanished. Once more there is only her, alone in the darkness. Only darkness, everywhere. To have finally reached Alan, only to lose him almost at once! He hadn’t even known she was there. She shudders, and helplessly starts to cry.

 

 _The story was taking shape. Alan’s mind buzzed, and his fingers tingled with static shocks from the keys of the typewriter. Yesterday he would have been thrilled to be writing again. But now he would give up writing anything ever again, even his own name, if it would bring Alice back to him. But that was a foolish dream. The only thing that could save her now was the writing. He would use the story to reach Alice. There was no other choice. He gritted his teeth and wrote on._

 

Alice wakes to the creeping sensation of being watched. She opens her eyes, expecting to find the woman behind her once again, so she is startled to find it staring directly at her. Trying not to let it know how rattled she is, she pulls herself to her feet and meets its gaze as best she can.

‘What do you want from Alan?’ she asks. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I want you to let him go. I will do anything you want, just set him free.’

‘You’re still trying to help him?’ It pauses, incredulous. ‘I would have thought you’d have learnt your lesson by now. Still, I suppose you’re not really that bright. You’ve just got through life by relying on your looks, I suppose. All you could do to help Alan start writing again was to bring him here – and look how that turned out. There's certainly nothing you can do for him now. Not that that's new - you never could do anything.’

Alice thought about all the days and nights she had spent talking things through with Alan, about how he dedicated each book to her, about her photography on all of his covers.

‘You’re wrong,’ she said. She lifted her head and look back at it, defiant. ‘Alan knows how much I do for him.’

‘Really? Well, I suppose that’s true. After all, if it weren't for you, he wouldn’t have got caught up in this mess at all.’

‘I was just trying to help!’ Alice cried.

‘And so you prove my point,’ it said. ‘Everything you’ve done to help has made things worse. You asked him to stop drinking, he drank more. Told him to stop going to parties, he stayed out past dawn. Brought him here, and trapped him in the cabin. Called Dr. Hartman, lead him on a wild goose chase. You just keep sabotaging him, Alice. And yourself, of course, which I find particularly delicious.’

‘A wild goose chase? Dr. Hartman?’

‘A stupid man who thinks he is clever. His plans will fail, of course, but they suit my purpose well. Alan will be so busy chasing after Hartman's red herring that he will be helpless to stop me.’

‘Red herring?’

It smiled at her, eyes glittering with amusement at her expense. ‘I think you should come and see this part for yourself,’ it said. ‘After all, you have made such a valuable contribution, it would be a shame for you to miss the fruit of your work.’

 

The lights of the lodge in front of them should have been comforting. Alice can see the light shining through the windows, but it seems weak, overcome by the darkness outside and fading in the blackness, like a cup of coffee made before you realised there wasn’t enough milk left in the container.

Shadows hang around the lodge, spilling in patterns across the ground just out of time with the movement of the trees in the wind. Alice feels the darkness gathering, building up and getting ready to break through. She can feel the anticipation of the Presence beside her. It feels like pressing on a bruise.

It turns to Alice.

‘You are planning to run, my dear,’ it says. ‘It will do you no good. Normally I would be happy to watch you reach the bitter realisation yourself, but since I am in a hurry I will,’ - it pauses to savour its own joke - ‘enlighten you. You are not actually here. There is nothing of you to escape.’

Alice stares at it. ‘Of course I’m here.’

‘Are you sure? Perhaps you should check.’

‘What do you mean, I am sure? I know where I am! I’m right here!’ Alice says.

‘You are tiresomely slow, child. Look at yourself.’

Alice looks down at herself, reflexively. The ground is damp and covered with rotting leaves below her. She can't see her body at all. Hands, feet, legs, torso – she can feel them all, but there is nothing there. She tries to touch herself and feels a sickening disorientation when her hands pass straight through her stomach.

‘What? How have you – what – what have you done to me?’ Alice gaspes.

‘We are the omniscient viewpoint, girl. So terribly useful. Do come along now, or we’ll miss the show.’ It sets off briskly, walking down the path. Alice stares at it, very much present before her. She glances down at herself again, and is relived to see her body back where it should be. Her hands hover over her stomach, but before she can get up the courage to touch it she realises the shadows are fast thickening around her and she can no longer see the presence. Panicking, she runs after it, catching up as it reaches its final vantage point, just outside a large window on the ground floor. Inside, she can see Dr. Hartman, sitting at his desk.

‘Look at him. Foolish man. He will be his own downfall. His efforts to control me are actually going to set me free. I don’t have to do anything to him – he will do it all for me, without me lifting a finger. Watch.’

 

Alice stares through the window. Dr. Hartman is fiddling with a large tape recorder and there is a sullen looking man standing next to the desk - Alice doesn't recognise him, but he gives her the creeps. Who is he? What is he doing there?

‘Ah, Mott,’ Hartman says. ‘I have finished the tape. I think we are almost ready to put the plan into action. Here, listen.’

He presses a button on the machine, and Alice hears her voice play from the tape.

‘That's my voice! But what’s he doing?’

‘Why, pretending that he has you captive, dear. When I let him out to free me, Alan is going to be racing around chasing after shadows – and all the while, the shadows will really be chasing him.’ It cackles. There is no other word for the madness in that laugh.

‘I will miss Dr Hartman when he’s gone – I have enjoyed watching his ignorant and clumsy schemes.’

‘He won’t succeed! He doesn’t know Alan like I do. You don’t know him like I do. You both underestimate him, and you will pay for it. I know he’ll save me.’

‘Brave words, little girl. Will you be so brave when you are alone in the dark?’ it says, and suddenly the ground drops away from her, taking with it the people and the light. As she blinks in the sudden blackness she can hear it laughing, faintly in the distance.

 

 _The manuscript is nearly finished. Soon it will be done, and the story will unfold, for good or for ill. Alan is tired now, eyes burning, but he forces himself to continue. There is not much longer to go._    

 

Alice wakes in the gloom of a strange forest to the sound of old fashioned music coming from somewhere in the darkness. It is quite, coming from somewhere nearby. The music reminds her of being a young girl in her grandmother’s house, a comforting sound made eerie by the shadows.

She tilts her head, trying to pinpoint where the music is coming from. Over there, she decides. Should she go towards it? Where could it be from?

She gets to her feet but remains where she is, hesitating. It could be anything – but then, anything is better than nothing, and she has nothing. She has lost the cabin and her bearings and there is no sign of a light. Her mind made up, Alice sets off toward the soft sounds.

It's not long before she finds their source. A radio is resting on a stump in a small clearing. There is nothing else around it. The music is drifting from the radio, the soft crackle of static twisting through the phrases like the wind through the trees. It looks like it has seen better days. As Alice steps into the clearing, the music fades away.

\--- Alice ---

The man’s voice is cut off by a burst of static. Alice pauses for a moment, torn between her desire to know more and her caution. Whose voice is it? How do they know that she's near the radio?

\--- cannot reach --- _a burst of static ---_  she’s too strong --- _the whine of interferance_ \---

Alice steps forward and gently nudges the dial. The noise quietens.

\--- go left ---

There is a burst of sparks and the radio falls silent. A thin ribbon of smoke rises from somewhere inside it.

 _Go left._ Alice stares at the dead radio, then at the forest around her. _Go left._ The voice had sounded friendly. _She’s too strong_ , it had said. He must have meant the woman in the veil, for who else could it have been? And if the presence were trying to prevent the man from talking to Alice, then the man must be trying to help her.

Alice draws a steadying breath. _Left_ , she repeats to herself. _I will find you again, Alan. I’m not giving up_.

 

 _She has yet more edits for him today. The story is fighting him, twisting on the page. Unexpected characters, sudden incidents, hanging plot threads all threaten the work. It’s hard to make the changes she suggests, sometimes, but he knows the story will be better for them. He glances at the pages, and turns back to the typewriter. He wishes Alice – no. Alan forces himself not to think about it._

 

Alice hasn't been walking long before the forest suddenly gives way to the shore and Alice sees the bridge below her. She runs down the path and out along the wooden planks, the thud of her feet matching the pounding of her heart. She is at the cabin again. She tries the door, and it gives beneath her fingers. Alice's breath catches in her throat for a moment, disbelieving, then she throws herself through the door and runs up the stairs. ‘Alan!’ she calls.  
At the top of the stairs, the door is partially open. Alan is right there, before her at last. He is sitting at the table - but he is not alone. It is standing right beside him, leaning over him, touching him, murmuring in his ear.

‘Get away from him!’ she shouts. ‘Alan! Don’t trust it, whatever it tells you!’

It looks up sharply at the sound of her voice, staring coldly at her. Alan shows no sign of hearing her. Nodding dispiritedly in response to whatever it was saying, he resumes his typing. Behind him, the presence dissolves into shadows, brushing against him as it leaves. Alice shudders. ‘Alan,’ she whispers.

She steps forward, but before she can step into the room it disolves around her and she is surrounded by the terrible, thick darkness that follows the Presence, a cold rush of air that chills her very heart.

'None of that,' it snarls. 'No interference from the muse. He is on his own.'

Alice shudders. ‘He will beat you,’ she says, refusing to be cowed. ‘He’s a great writer.’

‘I know, dear,’ it says. ‘Why do you think I choose him? A great writer of horror, of mysterious, threatening fear. He is perfect - and he is doing exactly as I tell him. Look, he is making excellent progress.’ It holds out a couple of typewritten sheets.

Alice takes them, careful not to brush against its fingers, and squints at the words in the gloom. She recognises Alan’s style – the sentence length, the pace, the phrasing – but something about it isn’t quite right, distorted, like looking at a familiar face in a cheap mirror.

 _The Dark Presence followed the choreography laid out to it in the manuscript, growing stronger and stronger, moving like a storm from one scene of destruction to the next.  
But it was still bound to follow the story and chained to the dark place it came from.  
When the story reached the end it longed for, it would finally be free._

‘This is-’

‘My escape. What a good husband you have, so loyal, so desperate. So stupid. See how he makes any changes I suggest. Soon he will finish writing me my freedom.’

It pauses. ‘No such luck for you, I’m afraid. As entertaining as this has been, I can’t risk you disrupting my progress. You came far too close this time. I think it's time I put you somewhere safer.'

The blackness swirls around her, and Alice is powerless to resist being thrown through the darkness. Around her the air turns to water and she is still falling. She knows she has to do something, but she is overcome by lassitude. She is so tired.

 _I must not fall asleep_ , Alice tells herself as she falls. _Must not fall asleep…  must… not…_

 

 _Alan cannot remember the last time he slept properly. He sleeps in fits, sitting at the desk, falling asleep only to wake in a panic and return to the story. Alice, Alice. She is lost in the dark. He will finish the story and save her. There is no time for sleep._

 


End file.
